You already have
by Marionette Ame
Summary: Before going to Piena, Adeletto had seen several other nations. His other half (that idiotic man), had seen all of the ones on the peninsula, and he couldn't help but be curious about the stories he told. The nation of white waters truly was a stunning place, and so was its prince.


Dala frowns at the tall wooden buildings around him. He isn't fond of how brittle they are, or of the layers upon layers of dust settled on every little inch of them. Most of all though, he wants to find out exactly _how_ he got separated from Adeletto. He's not surprised that he's lost, of course not, he's never had the sense of direction that his other half seemed to be born with, and neither is he in possession of a map (not that it would have been of much use to him considering his ignorance of the common language). There _is_ the matter of the capital city in the nation of the white waters being a gigantic fucking maze too.

Trying to ignore the peeling paint on the wood, murals that must have looked stunning years ago, he muses off-handedly, he walks on; the soft sandy ground is a comfort to his feet. He's quite thankful for how the nation is so clean, because despite how he covers up every other part of him, he has never been fond of shoes, nor socks. Big Sister Shetra had always made him wear cloth there at the very least, but he had never enjoyed it. It cannot be helped, he had decided that a long time ago; after all, the feeling of soil on bare feet is wonderful, and it's not as if anyone can tell that he doesn't wear the customary sandals with his skirt dragging on the ground.

Especially not the strange men that he spots every so often in the ruins of this part of the outer city. He's quite sure that they aren't pleasant people with the way that they hide from him and their leering looks. His feminine appearance has always been part of his adorable exterior, but, he can't say he's fond of how it makes these bandits, though quite well-dressed ones with their silk and gold, appraise him.

Even without trying, his ears easily pick up on the words they exchange and the movements they make. The insufferably loud wind tries to drown out their speech, but he has heard enough to know that he has no need of chatter with such awful ruffians. Horribly, the wind also stings his eyes with the sand it carries, yet, it is cooling, and welcome with how the sun beats down on him. Informing him of how they seem to be in possession of guns is an added plus, although, the fact that the nation of white waters has such a high prevalence of the weapon is troubling. He's sure to fall sick soon with the worryingly high amounts of gunpowder he has inhaled in the country too. The current situation not helping at all, especially since the scent is sickening.

Still, his highest priority is to find Adeletto, even with the stunning man standing with his back to him in the middle of the barren structures. He needs to meet his other half right away and will _not_ be distracted by those beautiful blue locks that encapsulate the pale sheen of ice sculptures, and he certainly will _not_ be sidetracked by the cold winter that his clothes emanate. Of course not. The watery, how feathers manage to imitate such a thing he doesn't know, headdress he wears is a sign of the man's nobility, no doubt true with how smooth and untouched his skin seems to be.

He is… intrigued.

Adeletto surely won't mind if he stays away for a few more moments, yeah? Dala knows that that's just a flimsy excuse but he also knows that the bandits don't have kind intentions for this man, _and damn him_ , he doesn't want this person to die. He has never been fond of murder despite the lifestyle that he and his other half lead, so watching an innocent die… he won't let that happen.

With a smirk, he leans against a wooden skeleton in the enormous graveyard of the dusty city, being careful not to let the bones creak. For a brief moment, he lets his eyes wander over the man's still figure and wonders if he is trained with the gun on his hip. If he is, well… then he'll certainly be a sight to behold with that posture.

His heart skips a beat.

Yet, without blinking an eye, Dala calls out, "Hey sir, any chance the entourage following ya around is actually yours?"

Snickering, he knows it isn't with the sudden movement of feet and the ringing, clicking barrage of metal to his ears. The way the man (god bless his raging heart and calm him; the man must be a kelpie with _those_ looks) turns frantically to him with his gun in hand is quite telling too.

The scream of fire and metal, accompanied by the collapse of a wall, certainly isn't what he expected, and he can tell the kelpie knew that. A cheap shot? Smart. A clean miss though. Not that Dala's unhappy about that. He wouldn't want a bullet nestled in his heart, and he doesn't mind that it tore into the tongue and brain of the bandit not far behind him. Buried under debris too, how lucky.

"I'll have ya know that that was terribly rude-" he walks toward the kelpie (he keeps on laughing and he's sure it's creeping him out), though his other half always calls it prowling- "I'm trying to help here."

For a most likely understandable reason, the kelpie stands at his spot, seemingly staring at Dala with wide eyes. He's used to reactions like these but the expression that he's showing. That isn't one that he's seen before. Strange, yet, he can't deny that it's alluring. 

Mesmerized, Xochipilli watches the young man, for he is quite used to scrutinizing appearances and can tell that he is male whereas his femininity might trick others, slinking towards him. The word does not quite fit but neither do strut nor sashay and he does not possess the time to solve this puzzle. He almost mistakes his claws to be painted with blood, and the smirk he sees is predatory. Yet, the swing of the man's hips and his narrowed eyes enthral him, and he cannot help but wonder if kissing him would be akin to tasting fire. He certainly looks as if he would burn with the painted grey of ash on his lips and fiery flames framing his face. The yellow and gold of the sun and desert laying itself around this incarnation of Xiuhtecuhtli does not help the image he builds either.

Only when he is a step away does he realize how close the man is and his trance breaks. Ignoring the urge to kneel to this bewitching stranger (he cannot do so, he is the _heir_ of this country… unless…) for the man could still be an enemy despite his words, he points his gun with regret. Yet, before he can even touch the trigger, the man grabs a hold of his gun and quickly, _easily_ he thinks, ashamed, removes it from his hands to his own personage. Even faster, he finds himself in the man's arms. From here, he can see the smoothness of the man's collarbones under his plain cotton blouse, tucked into his skirt's hem for some strange purpose, and he cannot hide the blush on his cheeks, so he disguises it instead. 

Dala frowns at the shock apparent on the kelpie's face. He isn't happy that he's scaring the water spirit, with the way that his icy blue eyes are wide and the fearful red on his cheeks. It's painful. He tries to ignore it by averting his eyes to the flow of the river on the kelpie's shoulders, but he can't ignore the heat so close to his own face.

So, he moves in, laying a quick kiss to his temple in hopes to reassure him, and whispers in his ear.

"Don't be scared, I'm not gonna hurt you dear." 

Biting down on a gasp, and failing, Xochipilli halts his desire to kiss the god there and then. Xiuhtecuhtli, however, seems to mistake his need for disbelief and he cannot endure the sharp slice that the grief in his molten eyes deliver. Still, he has no pursuable course of action that he can follow through with, or a stance that he can maintain, to remove the look in the god's eyes.

Then, with the whisper of- " _Please_ -" his heart shatters.

He can feel the god breathing down his neck, warm and intolerable, but he does not want it to leave. The presence that allows him to realize that without any true effort, Xiuhtecuhtli has him wrapped around his wrist.

Finding himself relaxing in the god's hold, and not particularly concerned with how he has fallen in love in such a short time, Xochipilli meticulously studies all that he can of this god. An encounter such as this is extremely rare, and he will not pass up the opportunity to commit this divine man to memory. The scar under his left eye is strange but he supposes that it fits Xiuhtecuhtli, after all, what is this meeting if not otherworldly?

Light falls into his eyes and he can scarcely spot the muzzle from which it is reflecting off of. He does not notice that he has jolted due to it, something that certainly seems to the god as a sign that he is trying to break loose, until there is a tight grip on his waist, and he regrets not being in control (there is also a major lack of privacy). Seemingly noticing his panic, and the way that his eyes have been flickering between him and the gun, Xiuhtecuhtli continues to unstrap the bullets from his clothes. A fact that momentarily stops him because somehow, _someway_ , he had not realized that god was carrying out such an action.

He is doing it quickly, but still, he is troubled. His brow is furrowed and _oh merciful god whose name he bears_ , Xochipilli wishes to be knocked unconscious when he sees him bite his lips. The concentration on the deity's face is alluringly maddening. He looks positively _ravishing_.

He understands now that this was a lost cause from the very beginning. A fast fight. Without a doubt he would have fallen for this god no matter what had pertained, a fact easily observed with how smitten he is within meeting him for some mere minutes.

A small part of him wonders whether he should worry about the men that Xiuhtecuhtli mentioned, but the joyous smile on his face when he finally finishes detaching all his bullets is breathtaking. Enough so that all fear is driven out of his mind.

It is the fluid movements and sharp grin that comes next that truly confirms the idea to be prudent though. He is sure that the god is not going to be merciful, and that he is through with playing nice. 

Dala spies a tall man preparing his rifle out of the corner of his eyes and wonders just how stupid he could be. Smiling at the empty spots in the chamber, he loads the bullets (some rounds splattered with blood, a strange custom in this country), and pauses for a second.

Then without a second thought, or second, seven shots ring in his ears and he's already leaning back, watching the glint of metal pass over his eyes. Thumping down, collapsing, the falling men are music to his ears, and he thinks that, even though he only shot six bullets, he's already killed seven bandits just by ducking. 

Although the god shows no signs of pain, Xochipilli can tell that the kickback of such a crude weapon will cause much injury and it makes his heart lurch. Similar almost to how Xiuhtecuhtli leans down and lifts his skirt, revealing bare legs. The scene, which he no doubt understands is tantalising to the men targeting him, makes him want to hide due to a deviously high amount of embarrassment. He understands that the god is merely doing such a thing to move easier, but, he cannot help feeling that he is teasing the enemy to their surrender.

Swiftly, he ties his skirt up and is back on his feet. Regaining his senses, Xochipilli discerns adequate cover in the old houses of the civilians. They are of low quality and easily demolished, so he is gratified by the knowledge that the people who once occupied these buildings have better accommodation now, but the art and history that is engrained here prevents any from ridding the city of this valuable heritage. As such, the men will no doubt avoid destroying anything to the best of their abilities.

With that knowledge, and with the speed that Xiuhtecuhtli loads the bullets, which have his blood in the rounds (a custom carried from the times of the first royals who stained their swords with their blood), he is sure he can elude excessive harm. With extraordinary skill, seemingly trained to be a marksman, the god shoots three men in front of him. In the time it takes to (though it pains him to utter such a word, much less carry out the action) hide, he is already knelt on the ground, shooting the remaining men behind him.

Xiuhtecuhtli gets up, a sneer painted on his face, as he observes the dead men around him. It is a cruel scene, even he can admit such a thing, but all it does is make him long for the flame-blessed deity more. Watching his every moment, he can see the absent-minded look in the god's eyes as he laughs loudly without restraint. A sign that seems to say, that even without effort he could defeat such weak persons.

Thinking about such diminutive details brings an excruciating pain to him, one that tears up his insides and eats at him like a parasite. So, to free himself of this cage that chokes his breath, he lets go. He gives in to the feelings that this heavenly being ignites in him., and with such an admission, he cannot help but feel quite _pleasured_ by the trouble that he is in.

In a way, Xochipilli supposes, the man is true to himself with the sparks he causes in him. An emotion that leaves him beat down and bruised up. It leaves him feeling as if he is bleeding, barely breathing even, _but he cannot get enough_. 

Already having loaded the bullets with the kelpie's blood in the rounds, Dala keeps an eye out for any more bandits. They're certainly heading this way if the annoyingly loud footsteps are any sign, but the glint of silver amongst shining sands and gleaming white waters in the wooden buildings help too.

Without waiting for them to ready themselves (he _can't_ do that, he's too weak to let others have advantages over him) he lets six shots into the brittle forest. Frowning at the screams in the air, something that will only attract more men, he flips the gun into his right hand.

Reloading it is annoying because that means another six wasted, even if it's also another six dead. He would use his blades, the ones strapped to his thighs, but, the bandits have guns and he isn't an idiot. With more silence this time, though can that really be said with such _loud_ weapons, he dispatches another group. He can't hear any more that are close by, though there are still some in the area.

Moving to fill up the chambers once more, he comes to the realization that he's gone through all the rounds he had. Twenty-four bullets… he can't help but think that that's on the low side for the amount one should have. What a shame that no saints have power over guns, and what a damn shame that the wind decides to turn its nose up to Dala now of all times.

Making his decision with the turnabout of the wind, he bounds towards the kelpie who comes out from behind the dead trees. Grabbing his wrist (and his skin is cool despite this sizzling place, _wow_ ), which may be the smoothest thing he has ever felt (but that isn't important right now), he starts running. He's not sure where he's going except for that it's away from the bandits.

The sand beneath his feet, soft yet treacherous, is becoming blindingly hot and burning him but he resists the urge to cry, continuing to run. Holding the kelpie probably isn't needed anymore, he is sure the spirit will follow him, but he doesn't really want to let go. His arm is really _really_ cool and it's really _really_ hot.

When Dala sees the green of grass ahead, he lunges in that direction. He almost stops when he realises that he might have hurt the spirit, but the fear is unfounded for all he can hear is his breathing like before. Yet, almost instantly after confirming it, he suddenly comes to a standstill.

They're at a dead end.

Immediately he looks around to see if there are any ways other than the one they came from. He lets his eyes search among the broken beams and shattered windows, seeing if there is an easy pathway for the kelpie, but there are none. At least, not any that can be scaled before the bandits catch up.

Their original path is out of the question. Already he can see men coming from that direction. Questions are shown all over the kelpie's face, but he's not asking them. Maybe it's because he can see Dala's urgency. Maybe it's to avoid distracting him. Either way, it forces him to hold in his sigh, he doesn't want to disappoint this magnificent person no matter what.

Leisurely, he pulls his blades out. He can spot twenty or so men, but the space is small and even though they have guns, he has the advantage. Looking over his blades, making sure that they are sharp, he can feel his arms getting heavier and exhaustion creeping up on him. He ignores it. There's still a little more he must go through before he can fall into Adeletto's arms, although, the kelpie seems like a good option too. Not that he'd ever cheat on his dearest beloved.

As the bandits reach them he lowers his blades. Then leaps straight for the first man, plunging them into his chest.

The man's silk brocade is ruined, but the spray of blood as he pulls his weapons out stains his clothing too, so he supposes that it's a fair trade. Not to mention how only an idiot would wear such an expensive garment in these kinds of situations. He spins away quickly from him, slicing another man in half before even hearing the first fall. Another is close to him, much too close to slice, so he sinks his teeth into his shoulder instead, kissing like a wild cat. Liquid iron floods his mouth, and he swallows the scorching drink as he stabs the screaming bandit.

Quickly pulling free, his arms starting to numb, he swings his left blade in a wide arc. Two men fall, still clinging to their scimitars their blood spurts and he moves on to another, easily slicing off the head of a bandit who had sneaked up behind him. A few more he rids off in this manner before his eyes widen with glee. It bubbles out of him as maniacal laughter.

There's a bandit with his rounds attached to a strap by his waist. That isn't the surprise though. After all, every bandit has the same thing. No, it's the fact that he is in possession of the same model of gun as the one that Dala has.

With absolute joy, he jumps towards the man, knocking him off-kilter and causing his sword to fly out of his hand. Clinging onto him, he beheads the man, grinning. Detaching the strap that he has, and taking the gun in his holster, he lets go of the decapacitated corpse, sheathing his blades.

Then, with as much force he can muster, he whips the strap, and the bullets fly high into the air. Lowering his body, the now useless strip of leather slipping through his fingers, with knees bent, Dala smiles, and jumps.

In the air, he reloads the gun he acquired as quickly as he can and tucks it into his skirt. Repeating the same with the other, he lands on the ground, rolling as he comes into contact, and jumps up again.

Aiming, he shoots his guns simultaneously. Easily, a good ten are wiped out without effort. Once again landing, he's down low but springs up immediately to avoid the bandit smashing his axe down. Right away, he shoots with one gun held to the man's head, his hand being splattered with sticky red, and the other targets a man further away.

With those two gone, he lets go… and swiftly kicks the last bandit into a wall, hearing several things crack. Standing upright, his head tilts, spotting the kelpie and the guns fallen on the ground out of the corner of his eyes. He's tired right now but Adeletto isn't here, so he smirks.

As the kelpie walks towards him he retains his appearance. The water spirit, now that he can pause to really look at him (even though he's ready to die with how much his arms hurt), really does resemble a statue with how immaculate and handsome he is. Not cute but, he _really_ likes how his hair flows and the way the feathers on his headdress complement him and _oh god he's so into men_.

Trying not to stare, he starts to speak.

–Or he would if the kelpie didn't just kneel and kiss his hand and _oh dear lady of fate_. Why is he- _why is he still holding his hand_? He can't stop himself from staring and he can't think and just, _what is happening_? His mind has already stopped functioning and he's starting to have trouble breathing. Luckily, his vision hasn't gone yet.

With a soft smile, the kelpie proclaims, "Please, dear deity of fire, you have already given me the honour of your presence. To this gift, I must ask selfishly of my own wish. Would you marry me, blessed incarnation of Xiuhtecuhtli?"

Dala knows for sure now he's delusional. Crazy. He shouldn't have spoken so fast just moments ago because now his vision is blurring. For the strangest reason, everything is going dark, and he hopes this dream ends soon. 

Xochipilli is stunned when the god faints. Quickly, he moves and cannot help the breath of relief he releases as he catches Xiuhtecuhtli. It is fortunate that the fire god did not injure himself, but, as he stares at the bewitching personage in his arms, he finds himself being distracted. Despite the abundance of blood splattered all over him, he looks absolutely… _delicious,_ at the current moment.

He has no set plan of what he should do, now that he is unable to carry out his original purpose of assessing the area, except to take the god back to the palace until he wakes. He still requires an answer after all, and although he should not let himself be controlled by such, _crude,_ things, he desires this being.

As he returns to the carriage that awaits him, a short walk to the entrance of the mid-city and a comfortable ride to the palace after that, he cannot help but ponder his dilemma. The god is extremely light, a weight that does not match his mass even with his thin figure, so he has no trouble with carrying him. Yet, no, the real problem is that he has no information about him. Does he have family? Is he from this country or from another, and if so why has he come here? Why does he dress like a woman? How exactly is he so appealing to him?

Perhaps that last question could not be easily answered, but it is the one that Xochipilli already knows the answer of. Xochiquetzal, his younger sister, will no doubt tease him endlessly for bringing a man with such beauty into the palace. She will ask him if he intends on courting him, though, he wonders how she will react when he admits that he does. His father will not have any objections, he knows of how Xochipilli holds affection for the same sex and loves his children too much to hold by his archaic views. In a way, it is what caused his youngest sister (Oxomo, the sweet girl, had always been shy but all the family adored her. If he had not been able to change their father's ways, she certainly would have accomplished it) to admit that she, too, prefers women.

As he thinks, lost in his musings, he fails to notice the man that heads toward them. At least, not until he calls out to them.

"Excuse me, is my… is Dala okay?"

Seeing the worry on the face of a man with the same burning features as the god in his arms, he wonders if he made a major mistake. The youth on his face reflects that of the one in his arms, and he can easily surmise that these two are not only siblings, but most probably twins. It seems as if instead of Xiuhtecuhtli being incarnated fully, he split into two different manifestations of himself. That the two are Xiuhtotontli.

"Do not worry blessed sir, though your sibling is unconscious, he is not injured other than some mild burns on his feet. He is merely fatigued-" he almost ends there but thoughtfully adds on- "and perhaps shocked."

The god, now with a soft expression and pain gone from his eyes, cradles his brother's cheek. Leaning down, their foreheads touch and Xochipilli cannot help but feel out of place. As if he is not privy to this scene.

Even so, it is not as if he can leave or ignore the murmur of "Thank the goddess. You're such an idiot Dala."

The impression of the name that has brought so much to his heart, it only makes Xochipilli wish to be with him for as long as he can. Though, he can only hope that the time is sufficient enough to allow him to kiss off his own name from his lips.

Still, at least several of his questions have been answered now. The two are not of the nation of white waters, a fact obvious with how the god used his words. A fact which allows him some… ideas.

Smiling at the god, he speaks.

* * *

Dazed, Dala's eyes start to open but he closes them immediately. The light is blinding. He feels the softness of the bed and its covers which make him want to return to the comfort of sleep. Yet, as he thinks about it, his eyes fluttering and slivers of light slipping through, he's pretty sure the setting isn't right. Still, he doesn't care, and promptly goes back to heaven.

…

...

…

If it wasn't for his hair tickling him, that is.

Slowly, he lets his eyes adjust to the brightness of the room, and smiles. To be greeted with his dearest when he wakes, even though it has happened so many times before, is pleasing every time. The red of joy is fitting, and a stunning scene when it comes to that, to be the first thing he sees.

"You're awake, idiot," says his other half, grinning. The blue of the room only makes him even more the centre of attention. "You've been out of it for hours you know. You're lucky to have met that prince in shining armour."

"Out of it?"

Adeletto smiles fondly, "Right, three minutes before you think normally."

Dala frowns, sitting up (those warm, warm covers falling and he's wearing… nothing). It doesn't seem like Adeletto's going to say anything else. He would think by himself, but the blue of the room makes that hard and- blue? Oh. _Oh._ Oh no. Fuck. Pretty kelpie proposed to him and it's flattering but _oh no_. He's not prepared for this. _His heart ain't fucking ready._

Unfortunately, at that very moment, he hears the door open.

"You'd think such a fancy place would have better doors," he remarks. Instantly he regrets it as the pretty spirit and his dearest stare at him blankly, so he limits the mocking chuckling that he, regrettably, can't prevent.

The silence continues with the two looking as if they didn't understand what just happened and him snickering unwillingly. Adeletto finally sighs and it breaks the standstill. Smiling awkwardly, the kelpie nods.

"I'll inform the worksmen of the situation," he says, "but I must introduce myself to you dear Xiuhtotontli."

Dala does not appreciate how the spirit takes his hand (he's naked dammit, have some shame) or how Adeletto is just smiling idiotically as he watches. Why isn't he helping him out of this mess? He's pretty sure he looks like, um like, very very distressed right now!

Smiling gently and looking at him, the spirit says, "I am Crown Prince Xochipilli, and I want your hand in marriage."

Contemplating the distance from the bed to the window, Dala thinks he can jump out without the two stopping him. 

Adeletto grins at the interaction between the two. He wholeheartedly ignores the guilt and strands of unease pooling in his gut the same way he ignores Dala's glances for help. This is for his own good. Dala is the type who will spend his whole life ignoring his own wants in favour of his. So, it's up to him to make sure his other half gets to live a happy life with people other than him, and with the heir of a kingdom offering a chance, he _has_ to take this opportunity. Dala deserves to be spoiled into oblivion after all.

Looking at the embarrassment increasing on his face, a red almost as bright as the hair on their heads, he decides to take pity.

"So, I guess you got another person's name wrong Dala. You really should apologise."

Dala doesn't seem to appreciate his help, "Like hell! You should have told me it was Xochipilli as in the modern script rather than Rizaan in the ancient script."

The Crown Prince, who wears too much blue for the country of _white_ waters, in his opinion, blinks. He's confused, but also impressed. He's quite sure of that, after all, the strongest man in the world can easily read expressions.

"You are able to read the ancient script?"

Dala freezes and he wants to laugh, for once his other half is experiencing what he has put countless men and women through. The art of unintentional seduction. A work produced by his dearest, carried out by showcasing all of the good of the world.

Wary, his other half keeps quiet, so he answers instead, "Yes, he does. Though it does mean that he can't read anything in the current script. He can barely tell what's on the signs. It's why you found him lost."

Trying to be angry, Dala pouts. Adeletto pets his head and he feels him melt slightly even with the affronted face he puts up. The affection slipping into his mind doesn't help the case either. His efforts to seem angry only makes Xochipilli, who seems to be stunned by the scene, blush. He really has it bad for Dala, he thinks, pleased.

"Then, may I ask why you mistook my name to be of the ancient script? I am aware that the alphabet of this time takes characters from it, but-" once again holding Dala's hands- "should it not be obvious due to the meanings of the words which script it is written in?"

"Uh yeah but like, it's just, that's true 'n' all but," Dala pauses, finally letting his gaze (and words, but his other half is _adorable_ when stuttering so it's a shame) calm and settle on Xochipilli. "What you're saying is right. Most of the time I can tell the two apart. I mean, nobody's gonna be writing shit like-" once again, his other half freezes, this time because he cursed in front of royalty (Xochipilli is too lovestruck hearing you speak idiot)- "um, stuff like cat's pigeon fall trash mud high."

"Then, you seem to be implying my name has a proper meaning in the ancient language?" Xochipilli asks, seeming genuinely intrigued.

Adeletto grins, he's been smiling this whole while and can feel his cheeks start to ache. The Crown Prince will get to learn just how smart his idiot is. An absolutely failproof plan.

"Uh yeah. It's pronounced Rizaan and means um-" Dala avoids looking at Xochipilli, his voice dropping to a barely audible volume- "star child of the night sky."

Resisting the urge to laugh, he hugs his other half. Dala has made it this far so it should be fine to spoil him a bit, right? (A mistake, he knows, but he can't treat him badly! He loves him!) Standing is too uncomfortable, so he sits down on the bed next to him, it's soft and much closer to him.

Dala hugs him back, burying himself, and seems much happier with the arrangement. Though, as Adeletto sees him hiding his face, and Xochipilli's warming, he wonders what he's missing. What he's forgetting.

"What a beautiful meaning, and even greater coming from your tongue dear Xiuhtotontli. Your mistake is quite understandable. However, I still have not received your answer. If I may be as rude to ask you to say it…" He looks at him hopefully.

Mumbling, Dala replies to Xochipilli's original question, "I'm honoured 'n' all by your uh, proposal, but like, I don't even know you. So, no thank you."

Ah, Adeletto thinks, that's what he missed. Though, with his dearest in his arms, he can't find it in himself to be disappointed. He hums, pleased, eyes only on Dala, yet still fully aware of Xochipilli's pain. He's not worried about this, it has an easy solution after all. 

Feeling the calm seeping into his mind, Dala tenses. He clutches onto Adeletto even tighter. Although, everything is turning out to be the fault of the strongest man in the world…

"Well, you just have to get to know him then, isn't that right Dala? I'm sure we can stay in this city for a while."

Damn it. His other half is a scheming asshole. One that he's holding very tightly yes, but that's to stop him from… being stupid. Yeah. That's why.

"That would be pleasing indeed. I can arrange your quarters so you need not worry about that."

…Adeletto is planning against him in his very presence.

He'd protest but, they don't have anywhere they need to be. Without a good argument, he's definitely going to be refused.

"Just one room is fine. We don't need two separate ones."

"Of course. I will keep that in mind."

Ignoring the urge to become non-existent, he curls himself up smaller and smaller as the two talk.

He really needs a drink.

* * *

Dala stares wide-eyed at the library in front of him. It's much larger than any he's seen before (and he's seen some goddamned shit). So much so that he can't even laugh at the sight. Scrolls and books alike are arranged on shelves that go up to the ceiling. The ceiling which is a terrifying hundred metres from the ground.

Unlike the rest of the palace, which he's been forced to tour for the past few days, the library isn't gleaming white and blue and silver. Instead it's a seething forest. Towering bookcases, stained black and wrinkled, hunch with the weight on them, dulled with age. Many are covered to their entirety entirely with wide frayed ropes, suitable covers for the muted colours that, though wise, have become worn and tattered over time. Countless though, don't hide. They favour sleeping in uneven stacks that remain on the brink of falling, some in large piles from that very fate, and others sprawled across the dark and dreary carpeting, swaying and rustling in the wind. Wind that appears and disappears from nowhere.

Shabby but sombre, there are stairs that lead up to thin platforms and walkways held up by delicate columns which remain sturdy despite being severely aged. The many differing levels, all with their own stone and wood studies, give access to all parts of the gigantic area.

It is an organised chaos.

His dearest is in a similar state beside him, amazed and unable to comprehend the grandeur. They've both been in this situation before several times in this palace, but, he can't say that the previous experiences had them prepared.

"I must apologise, our library is not as extensive as the Royal Library in Piena. Still, I do hope it is to your pleasing," Xochipilli says, appearing apologetic, "We have only a three hundred or so books and scrolls in the ancient script, unfortunately."

Almost choking at his words ( _only_ three hundred, only three…hun-dre-d), Dala turns to look at him, indignant.

"Of course we like it! I'm pretty damn sure that even _Master Atro_ would like this place!"

Next to him Adeletto nods, "I'm fine with this. The strongest man in the world doesn't care about such trivial things after all. Though," he says, thoughtful, "I kinda want to see the Piena Royal Library now."

Nervously trying to ignore the idea of an even grander place, Dala laughs. He's not sure his heart could handle the superiority that such a place would exude. Although, he's not sure if Piena's library would be able to beat the earthy aura of this library. He's already fond of it.

However, he has two books that he definitely wants to read, and some scary ideas aren't going to stop him! Neither is the fear that bubbles up whenever he looks at Xochipilli. He _must_ read them.

Mind trembling, he smirks and asks, "So, I'm assuming you have some original copies of the transcripts by Byrne and Marie?"

"Certainly. If you will follow me, I can take you to the shelf that they are kept on."

Xochipilli turns away and walks to a more dimly lit side of the library, the shadows making his imposing, though kind, figure even more terrifying. Still, he appreciates how the only light sources are the intricately carved torches flickering with balls of white magic. They crack and rustle in their widely scattered places. Windows, though natural, wouldn't fit the beauty of the place. Not the way the sparse number of torches do (seriously, did they get the Saints of Light and Nature to create the atmosphere or something?).

As he moves to go after Xochipilli, Adeletto smiles and pats his head. A teasing look on his face, he smiles.

"Have fun, I'll be sure to prepare some rings for when I see you in a few years," he says before walking off.

Huffing, Dala wants to call after him but he can't. He doesn't want others to hear him. As he quickly follows the prince he starts to wonder, does he _really_ get that absorbed in reading? Surely not, he thinks, but if Adeletto's the one saying it, then... it must be true.

Whatever, either way, he doesn't often get chances to read. Wrapping up that line of thought, he smiles. He can't wait.

* * *

Smiling at Dala who is seated next to him, Adeletto wraps an arm around his waist and gently kisses his forehead. For some time now, his other half has been trembling, worried about the thoughts of others.

Both of them are dressed in beautiful black garments befitting of the festival feast being held by the nobles. They make a pair to behold, matching outfits in the style of the traditional male and female clothing of the country. A sight that causes many to watch them.

Being the sweet person he is, Dala isn't used to that. _He_ no doubt is, he's the strongest man in the world after all, but his other half isn't and that's what is important. He feels small under the gaze of so many, especially since he has to behave properly instead of messing around and laughing like he usually does.

So of course, it's his job to make him feel better.

Hugging him close, he speaks, "Everything's fine Dala. I'm here with you so you don't have to worry."

Looking at him, Dala smiles weakly, "Because you're the strongest man in the world?"

Adeletto grins, "Yes."

Dala relaxes at hearing that and his smile gets brighter. He's happy to feel the discomfort in his mind slipping away, even if it's only by a bit, and being replaced by a light wispiness instead.

"Is everything all right?" Xochipilli asks, concerned. He seems to have heard the two talking. Adeletto starts to reply but Dala places a hand on his, shaking his head.

"Yeah I'm fine. No need to worry 'bout it. Though-" his dearest winces as he looks at the food-filled banquet in front of them- "all of this is making me hungry…"

"Is, that so?" Xochipilli replies, seeming taken aback. "I would suggest that you eat, however you have made it very clear in the time you have been here that such an action is not plausible."

"Yeah. Explaining that whole thing was a bit of a pain," Adeletto said, remembering the lengthy explanation about Dala's circumstances.

"Well-" Xochipilli returns to his gentle smile- "the two of you have been here to honour the sun god long enough. I am sure he is pleased, especially so with the countless sacrifices he received thousands of years ago." Then he frowns, a sad expression overcoming him. "Though it is truly horrible what occurred to those people."

He pauses for a moment and Adeletto can't help but feel amused as he blinks slowly before realizing he has gone off track. The Crown Prince, though he's not lacking in any skill, happens to get side-tracked easily. He does, luckily, always return to his original point.

"As such, I would not mind escorting you both back to your room. It seems that it would be pleasing, especially so with the moon that hangs high up above us."

Dala's grip on him tightens, "That's fine?"

"Without even a single doubt."

"Ah." He smiles, relieved, fatigue heavy on his shoulders.

Xochipilli walks away momentarily to tell his family about him leaving the festival. His sisters grin, no doubt making jokes at his expense as his father laughs. Waving slightly, his mother smiles at the them and he returns the gesture. She is a kind woman, one he wouldn't mind having in the family. Now if only Dala got into the program. He can't do this by himself, so he really would appreciate his dearest's help.

Teasing Dala, with his eyes still reflecting a pale blue, Adeletto speaks, "I guess that means you can continue divulging everything about Byrne and Zophrair."

Laughing off Dala's immediate yell and the red on his cheeks, he fiddles with the braid hanging down from the complicated up-do that his other half had put his hair in. The fuzzy embarrassment that he can barely touch with the tips of his fingers leaves him intoxicated.

* * *

Sighing, Xochipilli removes his unneeded accessories. The day has been long and the fatigue rests in his bones, trying to weigh him down. An impossible task. Being royalty, it is his duty to remain calm no matter what the situation is. Even now, as he frees his hair from its twists and loops so that it may sprawl over his shoulders, he is nothing but the epitome of rationality.

Switching his royal garments for a light robe, he decides to check in with the holy guests that reside within the walls before he lays to rest. Though they seem normal enough, even with their eccentric natures (endearing ones, he counters), every citizen of the country reacts to them with wide eyes. All of them easily recognise the two as the beings that they are.

Already, ten days have passed since the start of their stay, yet, his heart still beats with the fervour of a rainstorm as he stands in front of their door. Now, there is no way to deny the feelings that have erupted from him since Dala's (a name he takes enormous care to utter, and even that with a bated breath) arrival. It is obvious to everyone, even Adeletto, though he too is a Xiuhtotontli who is strangely humble (despite his amusing claims that just _may_ be true), is assisting him in his endeavour to court the person that he holds dearest to himself.

Soothing his thoughts, he brings himself to a lull and composes himself, then he knocks twice on the door. Quick taps that resound through his head. Immediately, he hears Adeletto call out.

"Who is it?"

He smiles, the two remain cautious even in such a place. No doubt they make for great warriors. Well, he thinks, Dala would if he had more strength and stamina (though he will not deny that he has a certain… beautyto his lithe body).

"It is merely me. I thought to check in on the two of you before sleeping since I was occupied today."

"If it's you then ya don't need to ask to come in," answers Dala. There is some mumbling after that, but he cannot catch the words.

Opening the door and entering the room, he stops, still as a starfish. Though, he doubts that the sea creatures can feel confusion and awe simultaneously as he does now. For some reason, Dala seems to be stretching in the middle of the room, Adeletto reclining in an armchair with an easel and brush in hand.

It is not the action that surprises him. Often, he finds the two in physical activity, and Adeletto practices various arts with an exceptional skill despite not having the eye to appreciate any aforementioned artistic work. Instead, he wonders why he wants to paint the unique pose that his most loved one is in. That, and _why_ said person is in the pose.

It is certainly one that cannot be achieved unless possessing extreme flexibility, and although he is not able to deduce whether it would be comfortable, most would find it out of the ordinary at the very least. To wrap both legs around your own head and then lie on the floor while reading a book is absurd. How fitting of the one he is utterly in love with then, is it not? After all, Dala is a curious person. Yet one that he wants to spend the rest of his life with. One that he wishes to hold close.

"I must admit, though this scene is an interesting thing to come upon, your flexibility would be quite a thing in bed."

"Huh," says Dala, squinting suspiciously at him. The noise he made just now was monotonous and Xochipilli wonders if he was too direct with his intentions.

"Yeah," Adeletto says, putting down his painting materials, "I agree with Dala. I don't get what you're trying to say either."

"Is that so?" he says, although he understands everything much more clearly now. The two are, quite naïve, it seems. Quite adorable, no doubt. How far, he wonders, does it go then? He will very much savour the discoveries that await him. A delicious feast left for all to enjoy.

Though, with eyes lingering on worn hands (missing a scorching, yet calculating, glare), he is quite sure that he will not have to share them for a _long_ time.

* * *

Two weeks, Xochipilli thinks, enraged. Two weeks have passed and he still has not taken the deities to Teotlalpan. Careful as he may be, he has always been forgetful of matters with little importance (though he is not implying that he does not respect them as that would be sinful, not to mention _absolutely_ false) and he completely overlooked the matter.

Ignoring how he _is_ currently escorting them there, he prevents himself from clenching the reins of his roan mare tightly, a loose grip is the optimal condition after all, and strokes her for comfort. She is not the one who his anger is directed to and he must make sure she is aware of that.

He smiles at the calming green of the mountains around them, and, already the burning in his head fades away. Replaced by the sweet of flowers and the damp of the earth, the scents in the air soothe him.

Eagerly, he dismounts from his horse at the bottom of the valley. They have reached Teotlalpan, the place of many mountains. Placing a finger to his lips, he indicates that they need to be silent. The two gods are confused but comply.

Closing his eyes, Xochipilli waits. He is fully aware that they might think him a crazed lunatic, but he has no qualms with that. They will be proved wrong.

With the cool of the forest on his face, and the reassuring firmness of solid ground beneath him, he calls out to the Old-World warblers in their own tongue. Singing their language is hard, but he has always loved them, moreso than other birds, even the larks and the wrens and the crow-like thrushes that have made this valley their abode.

Even though he has long finished speaking, his words still resound in the valley, and it is joined by the singing of the brown birds that he so adores. Leaving the darkness that he had encompassed his eyes in, he looks to the twin Xiuhtotontli.

Watching them, he relishes in the way Dala's lips curve up, and the flush of red on his cheeks. How his eyes are wide for a moment before crinkling along with the breathy laughter that flows out of him. He cannot keep his eyes flickering over to Adeletto, taking in how his eyes glow with joy and how he curls his hair with his hands. Nor is he able to ignore the laughter bubbling in his eyes or the way he throws his head back to watch the flying birds.

It is sinful, he knows that he should not want for both of them, but all he does is enjoy the desire that pools into a deep ocean deep inside of his heart. Not often does anything evoke such emotions in him, and as the two converse with each other, he knows that he is not willing to give it up. Pursuing this chase is exhilarating.

With how they are speaking to each other, the exasperated adoration on Adeletto, and an eager countenance blooming from Dala as he points to a yellow collared lovebird, he is sure that they have a surprise in store. One that he is sure to love, just as he does them. So, when they start to sing, he swears to give himself wholly to them.

Their voices are lovely.

* * *

Smiling benevolently, Xochipilli leads Adeletto and Dala to the largest waterfall of Atlicholoayan. He has taken them to many places of interest, and it is here that they end up on their third week. Speaking up, as the crashing water is a drowning force, he informs them of the goddess that protects this county, or he would if Dala was not in the process of ridding himself of his blouse.

Standing still, he wants to say something, anything really, but he _cannot_ look away from Dala's body. Several times already he has opened his mouth to speak, only for nothing to come out, and he understands what Oxomo feels whenever she is witness to a woman that suits her tastes. He vaguely recalls that she called this state of his as being 'flustered'.

The disarray in his mind is enough that he does not notice Dala moving until he dives off of the waterfall. Then, he panics. Trying to piece together the events that occurred, he looks down from the edge, only to spot the crazy god cheerfully swimming in the water.

His heart still will not calm itself.

"You shouldn't worry so much," Adeletto says, amused, "He's jumped from higher places without getting a single scratch."

Staring blankly, and wanting to tear something apart, he replies, "Excuse me."

Reclining under the shade of a tree, Adeletto grins at how Xochipilli is still blushing even though Dala is obscured by the water. Ignoring how he can't keep his eyes off of the crown prince either, he closes them, indulging in the colourful sparks that race against the white backdrop. It's childish, and yet, that's what makes his life worth living. He doesn't know about others, but, he doesn't want things to change from how they are now. That is, he always wants this happiness to remain. Especially that background. It's been there his whole life and he can't live without it. He needs it.

For the past week or so, he's been torn between wanting to confront his other half about their (his own really, but an emotion as strong as that is one that makes its roots in both of them and he can't say he's willing to give it up) feelings or letting him figure things out on his own. The constant conflict is leaving his arms heavy and his eyes aching. So, with how Dala is splashing about in the water, joy streaming out of him in loud laughter, it's obvious he isn't going to stop soon, giving an opportunity for him to rest. He hasn't slept well in a while.

There are millions of plants in this place, Xochipilli muses; it would be impossible to ascertain the true number. He has no intention of stopping. After all, he has already reached the value of three-thousand-and-seventy-four.

The number of spiky-brushed cloves is absurdly high too. It must be that the sacred majesty, Ixtlilton, is taking pity on him for the trouble he finds himself in. As he gathers them he keeps in mind that he must offer some sort of thanks to the holy god later.

During this time of leisure, he has been avoiding looking over at Dala, otherwise he is sure he will die of blood loss, poor blood circulation, or both. Though, it is difficult with the sweet, soulful siren song that is his voice. Neither is it possible to for him to watch Adeletto because he had not realized just how peaceful, and _ethereal_ , he appeared when asleep.

Whether it is the way the light sneaks through the foliage to reach him, or how the shade lets his hair smoothen to a darker, colder, fire that does it. How his lashes and strands seem like blood dripping and streaking down his form. The thought that if he woke up, looking to him with frozen eyes and tore him apart with the words that the blood is not his, it would not be a surprise.

He admits that he may have stared.

Cool. Refreshing. _Tasty_.

Maybe being fawned over by royalty isn't that bad, Dala thinks. Sure, he isn't too fond of all the politeness, but this isn't like the past where he could do whatever he wanted and get off without a hair out of place. Not that he ever did anything bad regardless.

He's been swimming like this for over an hour (why this stamina is always conveniently missing in fights he'd like to know) and munching on the plants that grow down at the bottom of the lake. If his other half knew that he ate raw vegetation (it's the fault of that short and cheerful dumbass) or that he dove down thirty meters he'd probably be in for the death of a lifetime.

More the reason to keep it a secret.

Not like Xochipilli would be able to tell him. He'd been collecting some sort of herb the whole time, in a very irresponsible manner too. Actually… he should probably stop the man from destroying the ecosystem.

So, trying to stop himself from looking at the prince weirdly, Dala drags himself out of the lake. Immediately he screams.

Xochipilli stumbles and falls (oh lord repeat that a few more times, _please_ ), while his dearest wakes up. Snickering, he watches as Adeletto rolls his eyes and helps the prince up.

"Sorry, sorry. Couldn't help it, ya know. I forgot that I should have gotten out slowly and ended up being really cold all of a sudden." It's not like it's a lie but he still wonders if they'll accept his words. Adeletto often doesn't. At least, he doesn't unless he sees that the grief is drowning out everything else.

For a few moments he waits as they remain ignorant of his words before Xochipilli ends up stumbling once again. This time steadied by his other half. He manages to keep upright (what a shame) but his face is flushed with a bright red and eyes wide open sparkling with the barest hint of tears.

He may have gone bit too far this time if that look is to tell. It is cute, but Dala isn't sure if that's going to cut it. Cruelty isn't really his thing so he's quite sure he hasn't done anything bad, but the prince still reacted so horribly. Is he missing some sort of etiquette or other strange rule of this country? It's possible. Just last week he'd pissed off Xochiquetzal by asking her if he looked okay in the dress he was wearing. He still hadn't figured out why she became red and speechless.

Yet when Adeletto grins, laughing and saying something to the prince, something he can't hear despite very well being aware of everything about his dearest, including his voice, he knows what happened. He's not as oblivious as his other half after all. Neither is he as innocent.

He can feel how smitten he is.

* * *

Right. Underneath his left leg. Thick liquid trickles out of his wounds and the stinging sensation that it brings keeps him alert. The sun scorches his skin and Dala hates how his sweat blinds his vision. Only the luck of his hands has gotten him this far. If it wasn't for the fact that he uses a loose grip style his technique would have already degraded.

The breeze brings him the scent of his beloved's blood and it makes him move faster, dodging the spear wielding prince. It's not enough. Though the man cannot match his speed, he doesn't need to either. His skill with the weapon is high, better than with a gun, and he's good with those too.

Every clash between his swords and that spear. Every metallic clang. He knows every time it will happen before it ever does. So does Xochipilli. The obvious inferiority he has grates at him. Screeching, screaming, _scratching_.

The heaviness of his arms forces him to bite back the tears they induce, and he can taste the salt of sweat and blood. These things don't belong here, neither does the way his eyes burn.

Blinking, blinking. Shaking his head to try to keep his eyes clear. Still moving, dodging despite it all. Dala knows that he's trembling. _Shaking_. That his body can't keep up with this. That _he_ can't keep up with this. Still, he moves. Continues. He's burning up and it hurts, and he doesn't care. As long as he can move its fine.

He knows how to use his swords. He also knows that it doesn't matter. He uses them anyway.

The spear blocks him. Again. This time though, with his body failing and his arms weak, his left sword, _his good sword_ , goes flying. Goes falling. Goes crashing.

It lets him kick the prince away when he relaxes his guard for a second. For a century.

Eyes narrowed, he sees Xochipilli get up. Quick. No. He's too weak. It doesn't give him any time but that's okay. He doesn't need something as abstract as that. Counting on things like luck and hope and time… it's useless. Instead he counts on himself. His plans and his strengths and his weaknesses. He isn't strong, not like people think. The only thing he has is his mind. His mind and his lack of shame. He can't use those in this fight.

Grabbing the spear, by its blade because it's the only part within reach, and ignoring how his flesh tears, how the metal shines with a lustrous gleam when it's stained red, with all that he can muster, he pushes it away from himself. Moving the sword he has into his left hand, making it his good sword, he twirls it.

Dala ignores the squelching sounds from his hand and the lurching pain that travels through his body. He tries to fight the heaviness that weighs him down. He curses his body that can't build itself up. That can't do anything against his aching bones and burning skin. This body that is useless but still needed because he has to keep his other half safe. Alive. Happy.

As Xochipilli stabs his spear at him, he moves to the side, ducking. Too strong, too much energy, he can't win against him. Then as he sees the spear coming to him, he knows he won't.

"Do you yield?" Xochipilli asks softly, igniting a terror in his veins, with the spear's blade at his throat. Staring at the pale blue of his eyes and slowly going on to observe the surrounding, he wonders if his sword will be of any use. He knows his legs certainly won't be. Not with how tired he is. He can't find a way out of this. Neither does he really want to. With how tired he is and all his injuries, especially his torn hand that really doesn't need to get worse than it already is, he just wants to sleep.

"Yeah," Dala sighs, "Though I think I'd rather not marry you if I'm going to get beat up like this. You won't even let me seduce you so just how am I supposed to win?"

Vibrant laughter bursts out at his words and Xochipilli smiles as he lowers the weapon. Walking over to where his dearest rests, under a tree because Adeletto knows how he adores napping on them, he collapses. His sword drops next to him and he doesn't particularly care where the other one is. After all, it's nice and cool and he wishes he could sleep already.

First though, "It's too bad that you can't build up any stamina Dala. Pretty sure you would have won otherwise." He groans in response and tears up when his other half brings him up to sit properly.

"Don't cry like that, I'm not bullying you here-" Adeletto starts to clean his wounds- "and just why did you decide to hold that sword like that? Now there's thread stuck in there and it's all dirty."

Grimacing at the pain and being unable to see through his tears, he replies, "Last ditch effort."

"Right. Can you pass me some water? Tweezers too." Oh, he's not looking forward to this. Damn Adeletto and his stupid training. Who needs skills anyway? It's only been a day since the waterfall trip too. He really hates this.

As he tries to ignore all his pain, the only thing he can think of is that at least his dearest won easily against Xochipilli. Not that it matters, he realizes as he cries. Everything still hurts.

* * *

Sitting in a small, yet overly fancy, drawing room, Adeletto watches Dala as he makes some sort of complicated hair accessory. His other half is cross-legged on the carpeting with a low-and-wide- structured glass table in front of him. There are pressed and artificial flowers along with various tools organised neatly on top of the dark, reflective surface.

Dala is moving his hands quickly, precisely (as much as they can be at least), and once again he wonders just how much more he could do if it wasn't for the ruined nerves that stopped him from doing ordinary things. Still, he can't ignore how his movements are off.

"Your hand's getting better?"

Adeletto looks at Dala with concern, it's been a week since he sparred with Xochipilli and he's still been flinching at everything. Somehow, he feels as if the vines of regret that entangle him have been growing larger, _tighter_ , as every second passes. He really shouldn't have made him fight.

He knows that Dala has never enjoyed it. That he's never been fond of hurting others, not even the Kyoma, despite how he tries to hide it. That the only reason he even bothers is because his other half wants to protect him. Wants to keep him safe. Wants to keep his promise.

Adeletto still remembers that promise, and he wonders if Dala knows that he already considers it to be fulfilled. If he knows that he already sees him as his saviour and, though he knows saying it will embarrass his other half, he's starting to think that he has to tell him sooner or later.

It's because he doesn't like how Dala cries every time someone gets hurt. The way his tears fall at night whenever he kills someone and how his neck gets wet because the only thing he can do is hold him close. Since he can only comfort him.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Ya can't expect a wound to heal so quickly in these places. Though…" Dala says, eyes turning up from the flowers he was weaving to stare at him. No. His eyes, darker than usual, seem to notice every single thing he does. He hopes, prays, that the way the coldness of the room isn't because Dala's eyes seem to be warmer than usual. He feels as if he's done something wrong (even though he hasn't, neither of them did anything bad). Often, he feels like that, always, when that bloody shade of red appears.

It makes him feel guilty and he knows exactly why it does.

He knows that it shouldn't.

"You have something to tell me, right Adeletto?" Those words make him realize. Dala knew about everything from when it started to escalate. It frees him from the weight in him; the weight that's been trying to bury him ever since they met Xochipilli.

It still hurts to speak but, he does it anyway, "I think I'm falling in love with Xochipilli."

He says it that way on purpose. Says it so he can see the hurt in Dala's eyes and the way his hands twitch. Like fire with oxygen, he desperately needs ( _ **wants**_ ) his other half. Needs him in a way that they both have felt since they were children. Since he cut Dala's hair _that_ way and he grew his hair out _this_ way. Ever since they first held each other underneath the night sky with its silver stars.

Letting himself relax against the armchair, legs lazy but slung up and close, he grins as the pain morphs to amusement and that white gets the slightest bit darker. Leaning to his side, he props himself up with his arm, ignoring how his loose hair sprawls everywhere.

Dala snorts at his actions, but he stares, eyes following his movements.

"You already have," he says, then he blinks and thoughtfully adds, "and because of your feelings I'm in love with him too."

Adeletto can't help but laugh at the green that flickers as his other half speaks. It's a playful spark that acts more like a curious kitten than a wrathful cat.

"Seriously? I can't believe you're jealous."

Pouting at his words, Dala replies, "Of course I am. Ya fell in love with him so I don't know how it feels like. I don't love quick, you know that."

Adeletto smiles at that.

"Yeah, I know. You can call it even." He sighs at Dala when he looks at him with his eyes narrowed. His other half is too forgetful at times. "You fell in love with Raina."

Dala's eyes darken again so he tries to ignore the guilt pooling in him once more as those eyes watch him quietly. Slowly, he smirks, though, Adeletto thinks, it wouldn't be wrong to say that his dearest is snarling with pleasure. He feels something because of it. Not fear. He can't ever be scared by Dala, but he doesn't know what that feeling is, and, _that_ terrifies him.

"Right," Dala says, "I did."

* * *

Being so high up to see the beauty of the field that they're in is wonderful, and the tall green of the grass makes everything look peaceful. Soft and blue, the sky seems to smile down at them.

Dala's heart is pounding.

He's not scared. Why would he be? This isn't his first time riding a horse. He's done this with Adeletto plenty of times before, so it shouldn't be any different. Sure, he's deathly worried that he might fall off like he did back in the Nation of Yellow Fruits, but worry doesn't equate fear.

So, gripping the reins as tightly as he can, he takes a deep breath. He can do this.

Xochipilli can see Dala's pale countenance so he turns to Adeletto who still has not moved from his position on the ground. He has worry weaved in his brow and his body betrays a tight tension.

Thinking back, he is reminded that the twin beings have shared a mount every time in the month he has known them. Before he was curious as to why that was but now it is obvious. Dala is fearful of riding alone.

It is not something that he would expect from him. Not with the way his eyes brighten at spotting an animal, whether it be a rodent or snake, or even a cockroach (he had actually held several of them joyfully while every other person had been in paralysed by disgust). Dala definitely does not fear mount animals, there is much proof of that. The conclusion that it brings him to is simple. Like many others in the world, he has past trauma.

It pains him to see how Dala's eyes glisten and the red that stands out from his pale skin. Having no intention to drive him to tears, he decides to interfere with this holy being who insists on keeping quiet.

"Dear Xiuhtotontli," he calls out, voice soft yet firm. He smiles as his beloved god looks at him.

"I would be honoured if you would allow me to ride with you."

Dala's eyes widen, and he replies, "Yes!". Immediately blushing at his eager agreement, he says, "I mean I'd like that."

"Well you two are being awfully romantic," Adeletto says grinning, "Dala. You're acting like some sort of fair and timid maiden from a story."

"I am not, Adeletto you idiot!"

Chuckling at their behaviour, Xochipilli dismounts his horse, reaching out to help the frightened being down. Dala stumbles, almost falling, but he steadies him with a hand. Then he pulls him down into his arms, hugging him close.

He is warm, and it brings a smile to his face as he tightens his grip. Faintly, he can hear Adeletto's laughter and his words, but he cannot bring himself to tear his eyes away from the blush that covers Dala's face.

Joy courses through him with the force of a raging river. Despite the way that this man, one of the two that can evoke his emotions in this heavenly way, denies the words of his dearest, he does not struggle to leave his embrace.

Xochipilli can feel his heart thunder.

* * *

Standing by his desk, robes and hair loose for the nights rest, Xochipilli traces the spine of the thick tome that sits on it. He has already read it, but he still keeps it close to reference it whenever it is needed.

The leather is worn from age, and the title faded, but the words are still legible so 'Bonded Souls: History and Explanation' can be made out. In truth, this is not an original book. Only an amendment. The original was not even a true book, merely a collection of diaries and accounts from all throughout the ages.

It had been collected, written, and put together by two women over a century ago, and despite the supernatural aspect of their research, was backed up by science. In other words, all that he had read in this book was the truth. All that he had learnt, was something that applied to the men he had fallen for.

So, when Xochipilli hears the knocking at his door he is not surprised. After all, earlier in the day he was able to confirm that both Xiuhtotontli hold the same feelings for him that he has for them. He has been expecting them for a while now. Though… coming at an hour where the moon hangs high in the dark sky is bold. Especially on a cloudy night.

He had thought they would speak the next day at the soonest. It seems – smiling and tucking his hair back – that he is still not knowledgeable enough about them.

When he opens the door to see only Dala, he realizes that he is horribly clueless on who they are.

Dala is constantly fidgeting, his hair splayed and tossed messily about his trembling hands, with a blush smoothened onto his face. The red seems like a mist, and his lips lacking their paint, along with his trembling lashes, only accentuate how soft he is at this moment.

"Right, so I was wondering if we could, like" – he looks away from Xochipilli, blush getting darker – "talk about something."

Xochipilli smiles, replying, "Of course, do come in. I assume this will take a while."

There is relief in Dala's eyes, but his body remains tense as he goes to sit at the edge of his bed. It… amuses him. There are seats in his room, antique as they may be, prepared for this purpose, yet the being decides to teeter like the round dolls of young children (he is still very fond of them now, and he finds them to be a good way to relieve stress).

"Oh, holy shit," Dala says, eyes widening and stance relaxing as he looks around. "This is amazing. I mean" – he gestures around him – "when I saw your room before it was stunning. It pulled off the fancy yet holy look without being gaudy but now with this dim lighting? It's just, it's fucking great."

He cannot help but think that Dala is being so very, cute, right now. With how he hugs his knees to his chest like a child, as well as the way he relaxes against the various layers and pillows on the bed. Like a moth to a flame, he is hypnotised by the way this being, this person, that he adores, gets enthralled over things that he considers to be normal. How his eyes light up whenever he spots something suiting his taste. It traps him. Reels him in so that he sits next to him instead of maintaining the proper distance that a royal should keep (the distance that none of his family members have ever been able to follow through with).

"I mean, the vibe is so different you know? I'd never have thought this of all places could look like a love hotel," Dala says, laughing as he speaks.

Xochipilli frowns, "I am afraid I am not familiar with that term."

"Oh!" Dala stops grinning, eyes wide. He takes a deep breath, moving so that he is sitting with his legs to the side and facing Xochipilli. "Uh, well honestly it's better if you don't know. Just, if someone ever tries to take you there, refuse. I mean, I wouldn't want the man I'm going to marry go off with someone else."

His heart falters.

Then it starts to shout. Despite knowing that this is why Dala had come, despite having prepared for this, he feels as though he is being drawn along by a raging sea. As though the moment he had been about to drown he had been pulled onto something solid, into the arms of someone warm.

"May I," Xochipilli asks, knowing that his words are not matching what he means, his cheeks brushed with a pink hue, "May I presume that you are agreeing to my proposal?"

Dala smiles, his demeanour from before gone – vanished like a bird with its wings – and leaning towards him. Freezing as Dala closes the distance between them, stopping as his forehead rests on his, Xochipilli finds himself aware of every little thing about him.

How he is clutching onto his clothes (he can feel the weight at his hips and that makes him want to scream), and how he hovers over him (so close that he can almost feel his heart beating through his skin). The way that it feels that there is an incinerating heat at where their skin touches yet simultaneously being cool and the only thing that is keeping him grounded. Forcing his heart to beat faster than he ever thought possible because he _cannot_ look away from Dala's eyes that seem black instead of red.

"Yeah," he says, moving so close that he feels the words against his lips instead of hearing them, "I'd love to marry you."

Xochipilli can feel nothing other than the joy burning in his skin. He knows that he holds Dala close so that he will not fall ( _because he is afraid that he may leave_ ), and that he can barely breathe. He does not know how long that kiss lasted (not long enough) or the state that he is in (Dala looks satisfied, like a lazy cat), merely that he is a mess. He does not mind it.

"I'm thinking," says Dala, his voice coming off as a purr, "that we should talk about everything else first."

Xochipilli fights the urge to smile, "I suppose we should."

Dala does not let go of him, instead leaning on him. He would have mistaken it for him trying to sleep if it was not for the way he looked up, an amused smirk on his face.

"Ya better not speak until I'm finished, yeah? It's going to be a damn pain explaining all of this." Dala waits, expecting him to confirm his silence. Once again, he does not smile like he wishes to, only nodding indulgently at his words. He does not say that he already knows about everything that is going to be said, or that he needs no explanation.

"Good. For starters, what I'm gonna say is gonna be pretty hard to believe. I don't have any sort of evidence or whatever to back it up. All I can say is that it's definitely true."

Xochipilli knows what he is trying to say; he understands the things that Dala is talking about. After all, it sounds exactly like –

' _There are four main points when it comes to connected souls.' Xochipilli reads. He reclines against the bed's headboard, trying to ignore the notes in the ancient language scribbled on the book. He does not understand them._

' _Here we talk about what are considered to be the most important things, so points such as the number of souls that can be connected, when souls are connected, and everything else will be explained in other chapters._

 _The first point details how those with connected souls are aware of these points instinctively. They have nothing told to them, and neither is there anything that they can find out about these things. They just know. Yet this makes things difficult for them since they have no proof of these matters that –'_

"– so that's how it is." Dala smiles at him. "Basically, we ain't related. Like people always think we're brothers or twins, but we aren't. Don't really –'

' _Second, the two people with connected souls have no blood relationship to each other. Biologically, they may as well be strangers, and as mentioned in chapter eight, the souls have no bond other than the fact that they happened to connect to each other._

 _Due to this, it is wrong to call these souls siblings or by any other relation. Any such action will make them feel uncomfortable and they will deny such relations, even at a young age.'_

 _Frowning, Xochipilli thinks of the numerous times he did exactly what this book warned against. It will be difficult not to think of the two Xiuhtotontli as siblings, but he is able to do it. Without further delay, he turns the page._

' _In other words, the souls have no biological or spiritual relationship that makes them siblings. There are also –'_

"– we look alike though," Dala says, sighing, "so people would never believe us if we said we aren't related. Other than our village, everyone else would assume we're liars. I mean, I wasn't even born like a normal human! How will anyone –'

' _Onto the third point. This is very important as it talks about the primary and secondary soul. The primary soul is the one that is seen as the so-called "normal" one. This is because they are born like any other human being._

 _On the other hand, secondary souls have no human birth. They come into being alongside their bonded and appear out of, what seems to most people, as thin air. This makes them vilified as many see them as Kyoma, changelings, spirits, or other such things. In fact, there are many cases of those with bonded souls all around the world, but most of the time it is never realized as the secondary soul dies soon after being created. Whether it is because they are killed by superstitious or cruel people, or due to being "born" in an area where they are not noticed until it is too late._

 _Now, because this secondary soul has no parents or anything of that sort, their appearance is usually based off of the primary soul. Often they will also make their looks be the opposite of the primary soul. Only rarely will there be no connection in the appearances of the two souls._

 _The personalities are, however, not based on each other and completely their own because it is –'_

"– so Adeletto and I, despite all of that stuff, we see each other as –"

' _Lastly, although it is hard to explain why due to the previous points, the relationship between those with connected souls is always that of –'_

 _Xochipilli closes the book, smiling softly, he can continue reading some other time. He has his duties to this nation._

"I know," Xochipilli says, smiling gently, "I believe you, and I do not care about all that. My love for you, for you and Adeletto, transcends everything you told me."

Dala grins, "I thought you'd say something like that. I told Adeletto that but he wouldn't listen. He's way too shy for this kinda stuff. Would blush redder than the sun if he heard what you just said."

"Is that so?"– Xochipilli raises a hand to stroke Dala's hair– "I fear that I cannot picture your words."

"Hmm," Dala says, eyes closing. "Adeletto is confident and all yeah, but when it comes to romance he's all blushy and stuff. He can't even confess or anything. Like I get shy 'n' all but I can still do things. He's just doomed when it comes to all this. 'Cuz when I say I love you, it means that he does as well. Though"– Dala opens his eyes, staring at him and smirking– "I guess you already know that."

"Yes," he says, "I do."

"Good, 'cuz let me tell ya. Adeletto's the type who'd blush when a girl flirts with him, and he doesn't even like girls. I expect you to embarrass him with me hun." Dala narrows his eyes, smiling, "But for now, I think we should get some sleep."

Xochipilli stares at him, "You, are staying here tonight?"

"Yeah, I am, and" Dala smiles, then leans in close, whispering in his ear, "I really do adore the vibe here."

* * *

They're leaving now. He and Dala. They've been here for a while, so now they're ready by the stables to leave. For over a month, they've stayed here, as such it's time for them to go. For them to say goodbye, and, he's blushing. His face is red and he's stuttering (Dala is laughing at him without hiding it but he can't do anything) because Xochipilli is hugging him.

"Must you really go?" Xochipilli asks, "I will miss you dearly, my star."

Adeletto can't answer that because he's too busy trying not to die with how Xochipilli is _so close_ and because he can feel his hair on his neck, so he can't even breathe properly. It doesn't help that he's looking right at him from such a _short distance_ and he's not sure how he hasn't been killed by the concerned way that Xochipilli holds his face.

"Okay, okay," Dala says, trying not to burst into laughter again, "I love you and all prince, but I don't want Adeletto to die so let go of him already."

"If you say so," Xochipilli says, sighing. He lets go, stepping back, and he can't help but feel relieved because even though yes, he is in love with Xochipilli, he can't handle this sort of thing. Actually, he knows that Dala is only helping now because they're leaving, otherwise he'd have gone with his whims and let him suffocate.

"Though, before you leave"– Xochipilli steps forward again, grabbing his wrist– "there is one thing I must do."

Somehow, Adeletto can tell that this isn't going to be good for him, _or_ his heart.

Warily, he asks, "And that is?"

Xochipilli frowns. "Dala wears the ring signifying that he is my fiancé, but I have nothing that I can give to you. So, I hope that"– he leans in close, kissing him. His face turns red, and he squeezes his eyes shut to avoid seeing the amusement on Xochipilli's face.

Once again, the two of them are close and all he can do is hold on to him so that he doesn't fall. Adeletto can feel his lungs burning by the time he pulls away. Xochipilli smiles at him, and lets go of him, moving away from both him, and Dala.

"I hope that you will remember that until the next time we see each other again, my star."

* * *

Dala has always loved these sorts of places. Maybe others wouldn't understand the appeal of a shady pub compared to a nice, tidy restaurant (he knows his dear Adeletto doesn't), yet he can't help but adore it.

There's the seedy atmosphere with the dim lighting and seemingly subpar (yet surprisingly clean and sturdy) wooden furniture. Heavy scents of food that he can't even finish two spoonfuls of (he always eats from whatever his dearest orders) and the fact that he can order alcohol without getting any strange looks (unlike Adeletto he's not a lightweight, although they've both developed a taste for fruit wine). The biggest reason though, is how funny the bright green and yellow of a certain idiot looks in this sort of place.

Yet, he also hates these places. Especially at moments like this.

Staring uncomfortably at the man who had decided to come to their table, Dala moves closer to Adeletto. This person is actually quite handsome, but in all honesty, he isn't his type at all. Not the slightest bit. He comes off more as a flirty man who sleeps around without a care. The type that he likes... definitely isn't something like that! He prefers two-faced people. Snakes. The manipulative side hid by a kind exterior– whether it be intentionally or not– is exactly his type!

Still, it's not the unwarranted attention he's getting that makes him feel this way. If it was he would just look unimpressed and stare coldly at the man until he left. No. It's how he's acting.

The man smiles at him and he can't help but feel disgusted at that sleazy look.

"Miss, you really shouldn't hang around these kinds of establishments. It isn't good for a pretty lady like yourself."

Annoying. He's way too annoying. Not only did he call him a woman, he's completely ignoring how Adeletto is right beside him. Dala can feel the blinding white and Adeletto's tenseness. If this dude doesn't leave soon, he'll probably end up with a sword in him. Several even. Well, more like it's guaranteed that he'll have several in him.

"I'm not interested, and the only reason I shouldn't be in a place like this is because of people like you," he says, looking away. He can see the black attire of a certain monster heading towards them. Neither he nor that idiot help out in important occasions but they've never liked these sorts of situations so they always interfere at times like this. That is, they are able to do things at these times, they aren't allowed to break the rules of their kind, after all. So in reality, they come to their aid a lot.

Especially that monster.

It's not that Dala hates him or anything. With those mannerisms he's actually pretty fond of him. He just thinks that it suits that man. Not to mention, he seems to enjoy being called a monster (he can understand why). He is... that type of person.

The monster places a hand on the man's shoulder, his red hair and gentle smile making him look like the devil. The scars covering him, and the hand he has on his sword, support the idea that he's about to steal a soul.

Softly, he says, "Excuse me sir, my brother already has several people willing to protect him. So, if you would kindly fuck off."

Ah, Dala thinks. His older brother is pissed.

The man's face pales, and he backs away. Turning tail when he thinks the distance is far enough. It's hilarious but he feels like something is missing. Frowning, he looks around, but everything is the same.

Red (monster, his stupid brother that he feels a cool green love for) goes back to sit with Demon, who's staring at him with that electric yellow and scary gold eyes (he ignores how he glows a fuzzy black at the creep), and Rose, who's staring at him with the saddest eyes.

The way he looks at him terrifies Dala. Creeping, growing, the dread climbs up his spine slowly as his brother pales and glances fearfully at them when Rose whispers in his ear. His heart quickens when his dearest stiffens beside him.

Looking at him intensifies the ink stains on the white, and he thinks that he might choke. Something's wrong. Very, very wrong. He doesn't know what's happened or why everything seems to be out of place but... he can't shake off the thought that it's going to ruin the colours that Rose gave them.

Tearing up, _crying,_ Adeletto looks at him as if he's going to shatter. Not break because Dala's held him countless times before when his body shook like this. When his words drowned in a quagmire and he held onto him as if he'd disappear (just like the village did, just like their lives did). Hundreds of times he's wiped away the marks on his cheeks and kissed the pink by eyes; he's been with him his entire life even if not his entire time, and he's seen that look before. That look of despair. The one he'd had when–

"Xochipilli. He's, dead. Why? How could he do this to us?"

–someone dear to him passed away.

Dala stares at him, eyes blank. He'd felt that something hadn't been where it belonged, and now he realizes that the deep, dark blue (darker than their coldest black) isn't where it should be. That the colour of the night sky from the day he accepted that marriage isn't intertwined with the silver of a young widow's ring. Instead the stars shine alone in the void left to them.

So it's true. He's left this world. Xochipilli is gone, because Dala knows that it's impossible he's stopped loving them with the blink of the orange and pink as the day passed. Adeletto knows this too, and that's why he's in his arms, making his clothes wetter than they would be on a rainy day.

Yet, all he can do is sit there, stroking his back, empty and numb like a husk. He can't feel the anguish that races through his mind, or the helplessness that stings at Adeletto's eyes. Can't understand the words that Red says, and doesn't wonder when he rushed over. Doesn't say anything as he takes the two out of the place because he's still with Adeletto. He feels the strain on his eyes when his brother holds him, and when his dearest takes his hand. Like when they talk, late at night, his dearest kisses his fingers. He cries.

It's hard to ignore how the ring he wears glints in the moonlight.

* * *

Adeletto smiles, eyes soft as he watches Dala. He has a bored look on his face, even though his hands are clenched tight around a piece of paper. Hands that are devoid of any sort of ring. The proof of the engagement is hidden inside one of his pouches, lying there so that it remains safe and isn't lost. So Dala doesn't regret dropping it into deep waters because of the pain that trembles underneath his skin.

"So he's definitely dead," Adeletto says, even though he knew that already.

"Yeah," Dala replies, "and it took 'em a month to get the news out. Pretty fast considering how we're two whole nations away."

His other half smiles. It's a strange one, not forced or because something's wrong, it's because he's trying not to laugh. He tilts his head in reply, ignoring how his braid feels heavy, and opens up Dala's hands, placing jasmines in them after taking the paper.

"I guess," he says, smoothening it out, "this means that I'll have to remember that kiss until I die."

Dala finally laughs, after an entire month of keeping quiet.

"I guess it does."

Adeletto reads the paper, frowning as he does. There's a lot written on it, much more than he thought there would be. Platitudes are there, like he expected, but it also mentions that Xochiquetzal will be Crown Princess and that Xochipilli's death was definitely a murder. They don't hide it, and he's not too surprised as the image of the aloof king and warrior queen comes to mind. Still, it's the words at the bottom that capture his attention.

Adeletto looks up at Dala, and sighs, seeing that he's calmed down from the fragrant scent of the flowers.

"The Brave Killer huh?" he asks, anger simmering under his rationality.

"Yeah," Dala says, his eyes shining with a freezing black, "the Brave Killer."


End file.
